Mr Hyde is Secretly a Matchmaker
by Doubleplusgoodduckspeaker
Summary: Waiting for the past to catch up with the present can be a trying process, but Shizuka was used to it. Perhaps he had been waiting for her as much as she had been waiting for him. Spaceshipping ShizukaxMarik.


This is the densest prose I've written in awhile. Seriously, this could sink in water. Written for Round Seven of the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Challenge Pairing: _Spaceshipping_, ShizukaxMarik, with a side shipping of Sedateshipping. One of those non-magical AUs, and you'll learn more about it as you read. There are no line breaks in the body of this story because of how I've chosen to tell it, so read carefully please. I believe that "Marik" is both identities in one body, so I will call their split 'Marik' and '_him_' or something to that affect. Trust me: when he changes, you'll know.

* * *

"Mr. Hyde is Secretly a Matchmaker"

* * *

"_Walking upright between the past and future, a tightrope walk across our times, became, for me, a way of living: trying to maintain a balance between the competing gravities of birth and death, hope and regret, sex and mortality, love and grief, all those opposites or nearly opposites that become, after a while, the rocks and hard places, synonymous forces between which we navigate, like salmon balanced in the current, damned some times if we do or don't."_

—_Thomas Lynch, The Undertaking_

* * *

Where most people could say that they spent a majority of their lives asleep, Shizuka Kawai could say with relative certainty that she spent a majority of her life waiting for someone else. Her first taste was in waiting for those two boys (for they weren't men, not even young men, they were so young) to make up their minds about her… she never could bring herself to choose between them. She had waited for years for her family to stitch itself back together, jagged and jaded from misplaced suppositions and aggrieved speculations. Even though the ties that bound them together now were not much more than semiannual snail mail, she supposed it was better than nothing.

She forces a smile up to the surface of her skin; today she is waiting on her brother. He is in town for the day, passing through, and he had told her that they just had to have lunch and catch up. He was due to meet her at her office in ten minutes time, which is just fine because she still has some work to finish.

The folders on her desk are remarkable because they were the only things on her desk—the only personal memorabilia she permitted herself were several wall-mounted photographs of her family and her degrees encased in heavy wooden frames. She had only been working at Domino Family Practitioners for fourteen months to the day and like the state of her desk, she had encouraged a clean slate for all aspects of that new life.

But back to the folders—they were color-coded with each patient's last name clearly labeled on the outside, containing pictures, records, and their entire medical history—the summation of years of health in single printed pages. She begins to sign where each form indicated, requesting prescription refills and confirming the completion of her morning's appointment.

Each of her patients had their own unique challenge, which was one of the reasons she found her career so fulfilling. Some came to her recommended from other professionals or even Domino General Hospital—arriving at her door with a diagnosis and a laundry list of hopes, fears, and expectations. Some came without a diagnosis—those were always the toughest cases. In her world the margin for error is slim and before one could begin to improve their health they first had to know what their condition was. And that was where she came in.

She had many cases since she received her doctorate three years ago, yet whenever she picked up a new client or had a patient recommended to her, she couldn't help but remember _that_ case. She thinks about it fairly often. It was the last one she worked before she transferred to her current employer.

It started out like many do: the case that could make your career. Observe improved health through treatment, write a few papers about the methods and get them published, and then with any luck you were set to teach at one of the Universities for the rest of your life.

His file had been delivered the day before their first meeting (this time she had been waiting on the International Mail Service, infamous for their alacrity) and was astonished at how little information was actually included in it. Of course, there were the particulars, those that one could learn after a ninety-second elevator conversation or its equivalent. Name: Marik Ishtar. Age: Twenty-six. Place of Birth/Citizenship: Hierankonpolis, Egypt. Family: One sister, one step-brother. Parents deceased. No known record of any psychological disorder in the family.

Beyond that, there was blessedly little in the folder. There was a hastily-scribbled memo from a doctor in Cairo recommending treatment when the patient arrived in Domino. She continued reading, scanning over another sheaf of paper. Apparently he was connected to a string of petty crimes back in Egypt, but nothing with enough evidence to stick. Shizuka raised one eyebrow speculatively. Was Japan a non-extradition country?

This case, she reminded herself again, could be the one. It already was shaping up to be more than what it appeared. But she never concerned herself with what started out in the file if she could help it. It was always what she could learn from the patient that was the most important to her. You had to really know your patient on a personal level—once you got inside their head, you could understand what drove them to act, and react.

When he arrived promptly for his afternoon appointment, the first coherent thought she had was that his picture didn't do him justice. Average height; muscle mass slightly higher than normal for his body type; chaotic bronze hair and even darker hued skin, he slouched into the room they used for every meeting with their clients, turning his attention towards her with a defiant smirk. "So you're the shrink."

She remained passive, rising from her plush office chair to extend her hand. "I'm Doctor Shizuka Kawai," she said, trying to keep her voice light and pleasant. "…and we actually prefer the term Experimental Psychologist. Please, take a seat."

She directed him over to a cream-colored chair large enough for a man twice his width and as he relaxed into it he once again gazed at her, his eyes seemingly large and unblinking, like an owl's. "So what's wrong with me?"

Shizuka momentarily allowed herself to be distracted by a beam of afternoon sunlight that fell in a wide band across the far wall. He was direct bordering on belligerent, and if she slowed down her pace hopefully he would too. This wasn't even remotely close to invasive surgery, yet most people lived in fear of physical pain… she reminded herself again that mental traumas were often much more frightening. "There's nothing wrong with you." On this her tone was firm and uncompromising. "Chemical and biological imbalances occur in a fair percentage of our population… I'm just here to get to know you. Now, tell me about what brings you to Domino…"

The safe questions were always a good place to start. They talked of Domino, and his sister's job as curator of the local Museum and her desire to reunite the family, and of his part-time job fixing motorcycles downtown. "And how did you like downtown?"

"They should just rename it Kaiba-opolis and be done with it."

It wasn't what she was expecting and Shizuka laughed, momentarily forgetting that, in fact, he hadn't really answered the question.

Their appointments always lasted ninety minutes and were every Friday at two o'clock in the afternoon. As the weeks drifted by Shizuka felt each Friday approach with anticipation she hadn't felt for any other previous case. Marik was very intelligent, if apathetic, and those ninety minutes had become an unexpected pleasure which passed all too soon, yet the promise of another week lingered on each time he closed the door behind him and left her, once again, alone.

"Shizuka! There's someone waiting for you in the lobby."

Shizuka smiles at the nurse who had entered the room to give her the message. Her work finished for the day, she stacks the folders and exits her office, securely locking the door behind her. On her way out she hands the papers to the receptionist to file, her brother clearly visible from across the room. Her smile widens.

"Katsuya! How are you?" She flies across the room and into his embrace, the hems of her coat swishing from the movement. He is taller than she remembers, but with the same scraggly hair and easy smile that she could never forget.

"Can't complain," is his response as they leave the small brick building that is home to her Practice in search of lunch. "I placed second in the Dueling Prix tournament in Tokyo last month, so naturally I've had to beat the endorsements back with a stick."

"Of course. It's only a matter of time before your face is slapped on a cereal box."

He laughs as they continue along the paved sidewalk. Shopping centers line both sides of the street, but this is a special occasion, and not just any place will do. "When does this tournament start?"

"When Mokuba feels like there's enough hype he'll start it… probably on Monday. Did you know he's playing in this one, too? He really takes after his brother in almost every way… except it will be _almost_ as satisfying to beat him this time."

Before the stoplight changes to red a man on a motorcycle clears the intersection with a burst of speed, gone before she can even stop to register the blur. They never fail to remind her of him and of the day that she learned how to ride.

_Objective for this meeting, Friday the Seventeenth of September: Have him teach me something (a skill, hobby, etc) that I don't know. Evaluate based on his knowledge, learning methods, and ability to impart information and establish trust. _

Shizuka stood outside, arms crossed, hair blowing in the wind, feeling more than afraid. "You're serious."

This Friday afternoon, the back parking lot was almost completely deserted and Marik stood in front of his motorcycle, an off-white helmet in his outstretched hands. "You asked me to bring something that I'm good at. I can outrace anyone on this bike, and it's so scratched up nothing you do to it will damage it much. Besides, fixing these is my job."

Shizuka was torn between an unusual desire to actually leap onto the bike and drive away down an open road and the how-am-I-going-to-put-this-into-my-report veneer of professionalism. She took the helmet and peered at the bike as if it was the endangered species of transportation vehicles. "It's not the bike I'm worried about," she continued. "If I break my neck on this thing then you'd have to get _me_ fixed up."

"Just trust me," he said, so simply and sincerely that before she knew it she was seated on the motorcycle, the tips of her feet barely skimming the ground, her fingers curled around the throttle. "Now turn the throttle just a little, and we'll see what happens."

"How reassur—ahhh!" the bike took off, then in a rush of adrenaline, panic, and self-preservation she braked sharply, halting several yards from where they started.

"Start it up again." He had jogged over to where she still sat atop the bike, something of a grin taking shape on her face. Shizuka reached for the throttle, and in starts and stops they moved forwards.

The next week when Marik entered her office he saw her seated behind a squat wooden coffee table, her socked feet stretched out in front of her. She smiled up at him, motioning for him to join her at the table. "Today I thought we'd play a game."

Between them on the table were two stacks of small red cards. Marik felt his entire body freeze as each muscle group tensed almost painfully as things he'd never wanted to remember came rushing back in a torrent of unwanted memories. He swallowed uncomfortably; his throat was so dry, yet he felt like with each passing breath he might be swept away. "Duel Monsters."

She was so occupied in separating the cards that she barely noticed his reaction; the game was very popular around the world, of course he had heard of it. "My brother plays on the tournament circuit, so most of these are his spares and free booster packs he's always getting. It probably won't take much at all for you to beat me, I hardly ever play."

She continued counting out each card, making sure that the two stacks were absolutely dead even. With each _slap_ of the card against wood, he felt himself flinch.

_Slap._

The feeling of knotted rope against his back; its frayed edges burning his skin like pinpricks, then searing hot pain—

_Slap._

The day that the rope fell not on him, but his brother—in name only, yet the bonds they shared were deeper than blood—and he seized it, turning it upon his aggressor until his movements stilled; _he_ had never felt so elated…

_Slap. _

"You're not me." One step back, then another. Fight or flight.

"I'm the you that you could never be." Every edge just a bit rougher, this, this apparition, closed the distance between them. _His_ words flowed sweet like honey yet Marik waited for the sting that would inevitably follow. "We both have what the other wants, now. You want to forget, and I… I want my freedom."_He_ leered at this faded copy of himself, also sinking in the shadows, yet not quite as deep in as _him_. There was no saving _him_. _He_ watched on with barely-concealed glee as he extended his hand, and sold his soul away.

_Slap._

The motorcycle thrummed under his fingers as he sped away from the scene of the crime, hurtling down the highway. Most of his pack surrounded him—the dregs of society, rich sons who were in it for the thrill and the chance to supplement their already considerable income, down-and-outs or up-and-comers in the criminal underworld of Lower Egypt… they even had a name for themselves: The Rare Hunters. It was the best he could come up with on such short notice.

_Yes_, he thought, looking around at each self-satisfied smirk and relaxed seat in the motorcycles worth more to him than their own lives… they were missing two, like always, but someone had to stay behind to take the fall, right?

_Slap. _

_Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. _

"Is everything all right?"

Shizuka's voice jolted _him_ out of his stupor. He observed her through half-lidded eyes, resisting the urge to just grab at the cards and run. So this was the good doctor… how odd, then, that she worked around people like him yet looked so fragile he could cough and she'd be blown away. He stretched his limbs just because he could, splitting his attention between the cards on the table and her. "I'm more than all right."

She looked at him critically, her trained eyes picking up each slight change in motion, the slightly deeper pitch of his voice, even the way he tilted his head slightly downwards, making his hair appear even wilder than it already was. She knew… of course she knew.

"If we're ready to start, you can have the first move, _Marik_." She waded out, cautiously, half her face hidden behind her own hand of cards. His eyes were circling her from behind his own defense, as he placed two cards down, one card up.

"How astute of you… I have taken his name."

Shizuka attacked the monster card with one of her own, activating a trap that backfired on her, destroying both their monsters. "And how do you like Domino?"

"I've only—" he began, then checked himself upon seeing that flicker in her eyes. "It's the dueling center of the world. You could say that, if this was purgatory, then I wouldn't mind staying here for awhile."

"_Not_ heaven?" She lifted one eyebrow, a little surprised at successfully putting the words straight in his mouth.

"I'm not dead yet, so let's not worry about the details." He drew a card, smirked, and put it face down. The deck was an abomination of weak, useless cards, but his skills were far superior. It was all in the mind, how you chose to attack the game. You needed that killer instinct. She, it seemed, had let it pass her by. "Tell you what—let's make a little wager on this game. If I win, you can have the pleasure of _my_ company for ninety minutes each week."

"And if I win—?"

"I've never lost." The unspoken _so_ _you won't win_ hung in the air like a carpet of fog, static and unyielding. She flipped up a magic card of her own to counteract his trap, destroying a portion of his life points in the process.

"Then that doesn't sound like a good enough deal for me, sorry." She paused, drawing a new card for her hand. "Besides, you'll be in trouble for being here. Marik will know that we've met and had this little chat today… " Seeing no change in his countenance she continued, "Do you know what a fugue state is?"

"I gather that I will soon enough."

"When you take over, so to speak, he suffers an amnesiatic experience during that time. When he comes to, his most recent memory will be of this office. By process of elimination, he'll know that you and I got a little better acquainted. That memory lapse is what's called a fugue state."

"What better way to know someone than through this game?" He gently set his stack of cards face down onto the table, steepling his fingers on its edge. His smile, malicious in ways that she could barely comprehend, seared her in a way that made her want to run to the room's thermostat and turn the dial to its lowest. "Besides, you made one crucial assumption. What if I'm the one in control?"

"Your time is up."

His smile stayed with her even after he had left and it wasn't until the room was completely silent did she realize she had been holding her breath.

"Oh Marik… wake up, Marik…" The voice had an almost singsong quality to it despite its baritone pitch. Marik opened his eyes to find himself staring at what he assumed was the ceiling… everything was grey; he couldn't quite tell where anything ended or began. It was an endless cycle perpetuated to infinity and he had the distinct feeling that he'd been here before.

Marik leaned up and his vision swam before him, grey blending into grey towards fuzzy oblivion. A spot right behind his left temple throbbed ceaselessly. He stood up slowly, noticing the source of the voice.

_Him_. His alter, as those doctors with the steady income and one-point-five kids would call it. "When we came here, things were supposed to be different. You could have ruined everything."

He scowled at his other, whose face was tensed much like his own. "The only reason we are here, cooling our heels, is because you made a mistake on the last raid. I don't quite see my presence as ruining anything… it merely makes things more interesting. Ups the ante."

"I'll bet Dr. Kawai saw right through you."

"Well she certainly saw me, and that's what counts, hmm Marik?" They each could see that spark from behind each other's eyes; lit from rage and mirth, opposites as always.

"Relax, Marik, you have nothing to fear… yet. Let her make that choice if she wishes."

Marik's head continued to ache; the pounding in his skull matching the cadence of his alter's words… he had gone too far. "You wouldn't dare!" He swung a fist back to connect with his alter's cheekbone, yet instead of following through his fist pounded into something, some preventive surface blocking his motion. He tried again and again, banging both fists on the reflective, slightly shiny surface. "….come back and fight me…" The pain barely registered anymore, but the feeling of numbness never left. Marik slumped down until his knees met the floor, his reflection in the mirror following his movements. He was completely alone. "…I hate you."

Just before closing time one Friday Shizuka handed Marik a sheet of paper, inked with the Practice's logo and contact information. A wall of words and numbers followed, several highlighted in yellow. A smaller note was stapled to it. Marik lifted the note first, just the slightest tremor in his touch.

"Prescription notices?"

"The results from the Diagnostic we ran last week are summarized at the bottom of the page," was her answer. "You tested positive for Axis II, which places you somewhere between borderline personality disorder and dissociative personality disorder."

Marik breathed in deeply, mentally cursing his alter yet again. The week after _he_ had pulled that little stunt Shizuka had ordered the test. Another doctor had met with him and given the interview. In the plainest sense of the word, he had told the truth. He could almost have been proud of her… but he still felt rotten. The system was catching up with him, little by little, snapping at his heels.

Shizuka seemed to breathe with him, searching for words, maintaining that clinical detachment she knew that she must show. "You must know that this will be a very difficult time, but I am here for you. My office line is on that paper; call if you need anything." Then, in a slightly more cheerful voice: "I'm starting you on a regimen… take one pill every day. The prescription is good for two weeks, and we'll evaluate how you're doing then, okay?"

Marik was still staring at the paper in his hands, feeling both completely condemned yet strangely free.

"Hey, Shizuka, snap out of it."

The scene cleared; the restaurant they had chosen was labeled as classy yet casual, and they were given a corner booth set a bit farther back, making the other patron's conversations not much more than whispers to her ears. "What's on your mind? A new case?" Jounouchi was very proud of his sister; she was, after all, the first doctor in the family. Her unwavering dedication to her career inspired him, yet sometimes he wondered if sometimes she was too immersed in her job.

"No… an old one." She gave a sad sort of smile at him, yet said nothing more. He continued to elaborate on the newest duel disk technology and against her better judgment her mind continued to wander.

Marik let the water run through his fingers before reaching for the soap, generously lathering up his hands before returning it to the tray. He looked up towards the mirror over the medicine cabinet and into _his_ face.

"I thought you were gone for good." He practically spit the words out, rubbing his hands together despite the already rich lather. It had been two weeks and he hadn't encountered _him_ in any sense—not in sound nor in sight.

"Marik, _I_ am a part of you. _I_ am you. Why would you want to keep me out?" The other smiled maliciously, drawing his attention away from the eyes, which had lost much of their sheen. In fact, _he_ looked especially fatigued—

"Why? Let me think… you killed my father, started a gang, almost got us thrown into jail on multiple occasions, led former friends into the hands of the police, made my life a living hell, alienated my family, threatened Shizuka—"

"Ahh… so she's the tipping point." Slowly, cautiously: "Do you love her?"

"Why are you still here?" Marik's hands were starting to chafe as he continued to rub them together, but he barely noticed, all of his attention completely focused on _him_.

"You think she's going to fall for you? Just look at you. You're miserable, nameless, a face in the crowds, and you work at a bike shop. Do you even have the slightest idea what it would take for her to notice you?"

Marik stared into the mirror, and the mirror stared back, silent, unblinking, unyielding. Slowly, the image in the mirror raised his hand and Marik did also, knowing somewhere in his mind and heart that this was wrong, and yet he'd do anything, even mess up, because nothing could be worse than this moment expect rejection, and he wouldn't dare even think it, for he didn't know what destroying a man already hollow and empty would accomplish.

"You don't need these anymore," _he_ said, picking up the small bottle in his hand. Despite the soapy grip, the fingers tightened around the plastic container, tipping it over. Marik couldn't look down as the handful of tiny pills swirled around the sink before vanishing into the pipeline. "You have me. And eventually, we'll have her."

The words and images floated away, leaving Marik standing before the sink holding the incriminating prescription bottle. Once his senses cleared and his sense of time became gradually restored he knew in an instant what he had done. No. It was his fault, all his and no one else's. And he would accept responsibility like _he_ knew he would. His fingers twitched as if he had been burned, and as he reached for the soap and tried again and again to wash away what had been bred into him, he continued to stare into the mirror, suddenly wanting to smash it into a thousand pieces yet not knowing how. He continued to scrub at his skin until, scraped raw, the skin opened and a spot of red swirled around the basin before disappearing from sight.

How had things become like this?

The Other Marik, Shizuka decided, had started it all. She might have even missed the diagnosis if he hadn't appeared that one afternoon. She had only spoken to _him_ on several occasions since that first fateful meeting, so she was surprised, confused, and even a little bit fearful upon seeing him step lithely into her office that Friday at two o'clock in the afternoon. His mouth was stretched into a parody of a smile, as if to ask _did you miss me?_

"Where is Marik?"

"He's, as you could say… sleeping. He was ever so kind to let me stretch my legs, and I thought that I'd sit in for him as a sort of proxy; I know he'd hate to miss this appointment."

"Has he been harmed in any way?" Her voice was low, her eyes darting back and forth from him to the closed office door. The office phone hung on that same wall.

"He is very much safe… he has not been harmed. He wouldn't want to make you sad. I won't harm you, either, so you can stop looking like that. It would make him sad."

Shizuka colored at his blunt words, fidgeting with the buttons on her coat so she would at least pretend his words didn't affect her as much as they did. She cared for _all_ of her patients… so when had it developed into anything more? "How do you feel about him?"

"He's a vessel, a means to an end." His words had a desperate sort of finality to them that stilled her movements and slowly brought her gaze in line with his. "If I owe him anything it is because without him, I would never have come to be."

Shizuka folded one leg over the other, leaning forward slightly as she observed him. "I feel like I am witnessing a different side of you each time I see you… you're always changing. You wait for us to catch up to you."

Marik crossed his arms, refusing to take the bait until she threw something a little more worthwhile out. "And you're the exact opposite, aren't you? Always waiting for someone else to take the plunge first, or force you out into the world, or do anything to spark a change. You're static, Shizuka. And now that we're here, you're being pulled into the current behind our wake, and you don't know what to do but for once in your life you don't even care." He paused suddenly, just as surprised as she was at the outburst. "Was it even your choice to become a psychologist?"

A profound silence settled around the room, searching out its corners and crevices, blanketing the room for several blissful seconds. "… I am not a doctor by choice, but I went into this field because I wanted to. I, I wanted to help people. And I don't ever regret it, especially—"

She stopped, unsure of what to say or how much to say, waiting, as always, for _him_ to make the next move. _He_ moved towards where she was seated at her office chair, _his_ eyes unreadable, as if making one of the toughest decisions of _his_ life.

"To hell with this."

_He_ reached out, pulling Shizuka up by the lapels of her white coat, his hands instantly moving to her hair as their lips met, hers hesitant, his searing. With each sensation she was reminded of Egypt.

He held her as if he would never let her go, and when he finally did pull away to breathe she tilted her head up as if to follow him. She looked justifiably stunned, and he suppressed a smirk. He did everything well—he was unsurprised that this was no exception. "Shizuka."

She looked at him and again saw someone always changing, always so dynamic, and a part of her was secretly jealous of that. She doubted she could ever fully understand him, yet the challenge made her want to try. His hands were now on her shoulders, keeping her from moving, from leaving, as if he really believed that if he let her go she would disappear and be nothing more than a dream or a figment of his imagination keeping him company. He tilted his head towards her again, his bangs falling slightly over his eyes.

"Tell him I've decided. The choice will be up to you. He'll know what I mean."

Shizuka caught him as best as she could when his body crumpled to the floor; she eased his body into a more comfortable position and waited for him to wake up. It took just over one minute.

"Marik?"

He directed his eyes upward upon hearing her voice; realizing that his head was resting in her lap he reluctantly let her raise him until he was seated on the ground next to her. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "The pills… I… they're gone."

"It's alright," she said soothingly, reaching for his hand. "I'm not sure what it means, but he told me to tell you something. He said to tell you that he's decided that the choice is up to me… what is this all about? Marik, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," he echoed hollowly, yet there was no escaping or explaining how his fingers clenched around her hand. She looked at the connection, saw the bandages wrapped around several fingers, and worried.

The weather was starting to get colder and the leaves on the trees lining Domino's city streets were turning hues of yellow and red, tainted by nature into a last stand before they fell, violent and dizzy from their whirlwind journey, to the ground. The tree outside Shizuka's office window rustled in the breeze, helping the process along. She was working just a little late that day, and had she left five minutes earlier she would have missed the call.

It was his sister—she introduced herself as Ishizu, and there was something in her voice that made it clear to her, even before she had asked for her help, that this was an emergency.

"Rishid went in to try and calm him down but it isn't working, and I'm afraid something has happened to him—you know _him_ very well, I think you should try and talk some sense into _him_ before _he_ hurts himself."

"Ishizu, I need you to stay calm and think of your own safety first," Shizuka rested the phone between her neck and shoulder, already shrugging into her heavy coat and picking up her purse. "And if there is any evidence that your brother has been harmed, you need to call the police or the hospital. …I understand, but the health of your family must be more important than the record. I'll need directions to your apartment, but I'll be there as soon as I can."

She switched to her cell phone and dialed the number again, dashing out of the office, finding her car buried under a small mountain of leaves. She revved the engine and darted into traffic, following Ishizu's directions and hoping against hope that Marik and his family were safe.

She racked her brain while stopped at a red light. What could have caused such a reaction? She thought of last Friday's appointment and that unintentional (yet hardly regretted) kiss… perhaps, she thought, stilled with realization, that this time she was the catalyst.

The driveway was full so she parked on the street, dashing up the stairs and rapping twice on the door. A tall woman answered the door who appeared almost exactly how Shizuka always imagined Ishizu would look. "Thank goodness you're here! I was just about to go in, but you should have heard the threats... its only ever been this bad once before." Her eyes glistened in the faint lamplight of the apartment.

"You really should call the police," Shizuka said, steeling herself in preparation before the remarkably plain, unpainted wooden door. This time, no one could afford to wait for her. "If Rishid or Marik is injured they will need immediate medical attention. I'm not trained to mend bones."

She knocked on the door once for courtesy's sake and then said loudly, "Marik, it's me. I'm coming in."

She heard him shout something but ignored it, cracking the door open slightly. The arrow of light cut the room in two, illuminating the man she had gotten to know almost too well over the months.

"What do you want?"

She squinted in the darkness; was it _him_, or Marik…?

She surveyed the room, which must have been his; the sheets on the bed were rumpled and one of the dresser drawers was lying on the floor, clothes spilling out of its opening. "I just want to make sure both you and your brother are all right. Where is Rishid?"

"So _now_ you care? What is it going to take to get your attention, hmm? The pills…no, that wasn't good enough. Is this good enough?" He flailed his arms at the scene of general destruction. When he turned back to her, she finally got a good look at his face.

"Marik? You did all this?"

Shizuka gently closed the bedroom door, swathing the room once more in semidarkness before standing in front of him. And she thought this case would make her career; she would write papers and give presentations on her diagnosis and the preventive treatment steps… she had never expected something like this would happen. Things were constantly in motion and sometimes she had to struggle to keep up, but just in seeing his face, the way his every pore silently shrieked in rage, hatred, frustration… she wanted to set things right.

"I thought your brother was the closest person to you. Marik, why did you do this?"

"So now you care…" the repetition was sullen, monotone, a sentence half thrown away before it was completed.

"Of course I do. I care for all of my patients." Suddenly it struck her, and comprehension dawned on her features. "What did _he_ tell you?"

"He was quite certain you were going to choose him—he told me enough to know that I should just quit while I'm behind."

"Oh, Marik…" Shizuka grasped his hands, once more swollen and bleeding, in her own and gave him a teary-eyed smile. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the plunge. The chance had come for her alone to seize, and it was now or never. "I love you… _both_ of you."

She could feel his body tense and for one harrowing moment wondered if she had said the wrong thing, when Marik suddenly smiled—a genuine smile that was enough to light up the room. She tentatively smiled back. "I don't believe it… _He's_ laughing."

She had to laugh too, at that, because suddenly all of the tension in the room was gone and she rushed into their collective embrace with the certainty that although things were not perfect, or even set right, they soon would be.

It was only a matter of time.

Shizuka finishes her lunch and Jounouchi pays; she offers but he insists. The food was splendid and their conversation warm and nostalgic. Before he leaves he gives her two tickets to the tournament finals, promising that he'll be there are really win it all this time. She has no doubt in him.

She is once again alone in front of the building where she works. She had been lucky to get rehired, and even at a Practice in Domino, but of course things hadn't had the fairytale ending some part of her had hoped for.

Ishizu had called the police, and once they had found Rishid in the adjoining bathroom, barely conscious and suffering multiple fractures on each ulna (Marik had attacked him with a gold-hued metal rod that Ishizu claimed was an Egyptian relic), they had been forced to open a file on him. Further investigative work had bridged the connection between Marik Ishtar and the group known as the 'Rare Hunters,' and after a trial he had been sentenced to fourteen months for his crimes. The day he left Shizuka had quit her first job and relocated here. Being in that office just brought up memories she didn't want to deal with at the time.

Her fingers curl around the throttle of the motorcycle and she imagines this is what a bird would feel like, surrounded by nothing but sky and clouds, borne aloft by its own wings, content in its limitless domain. She felt a strange tingling of anticipation as she sped along the highway. Her destination was on the other side of the city.

She pulls up to the curb in front of the squat brick structure with high windows and lined by barbed-wire fences just as he exits through the front door, never looking back. They spend the first moments of his freedom just staring at each other. The world might have ended and begun anew and they both would have stayed unmoving, leaving everything unsaid because they knew they would get around to it eventually. They had all the time they needed now. Perhaps, Shizuka wondered, she had been waiting for them just as much as they had been waiting for her.

"Are you ready to go home?" She asks, nodding to the bike perched beside the curb.

_He_ nods, jumping smoothly onto the front seat of the motorcycle even though it was her bike, and after several seconds she caves, joining him on the bike, her arms finding their place around his torso. Despite the time apart, it all feels completely natural. Like puzzle pieces meant to fit together. _He_ kicks off from the curb and speeds away, turning left, then right, then he keeps on driving until they are lost in the crowd of buildings, cars and people on their own individual journeys that, when the moment is right, can match up before anyone ever realizes it and then they wonder how they ever got by alone.

"If you get a speeding ticket on your first day out of jail Ishizu will never let us hear the end of it."

* * *

The End

* * *

Footnotes:

I will be the first to state that although my research in preparation for writing this story was considerable, it is by no means absolute. Many of the symptoms Marik displayed are those of someone diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which is supposedly notoriously difficult to diagnose, and I thought it added a really cool spin to see how he would handle a romance on top of all of that. If anyone knows more on this topic and would be willing to share, by all means contact me.

In regards to the storytelling, my inspiration was oddly enough the film 'The Notebook.' How it starts in the 'present' and then gradually tells the story of what happened up until that point then goes onwards from there. That's why I really didn't want to have line breaks—it's all one continuous narration of experience _and_ memory, and I didn't want to interrupt that.

Title taken (somewhat) by Sunshine Biscuits' story 'Mr. Darcy is Secretly a Ghostbuster.' My alternate title was 'Fugue in A Minor' for a myriad of musical, thematic, and symbolic reasons.

_Reviews_ are cherished, reread over and over, and put on my fridge (well, not really that last one). _Thank you for reading!_


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